


Everyone That's So Close to Me.

by Zyzzyva



Series: And the universe said, "You have played the game well." [DSMP Fics] [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyzzyva/pseuds/Zyzzyva
Summary: He can't remember.
Relationships: (it's not explicitly romantic), Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Series: And the universe said, "You have played the game well." [DSMP Fics] [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207772
Comments: 10
Kudos: 157





	Everyone That's So Close to Me.

**Author's Note:**

> tales absolutely killed me today. what a banger.
> 
> the secret room seems to be underneath karl’s house so that’s what i’m going w/ but i’m not certain on it.... i hope it’s right.
> 
>  **tws:** panic attack, mild self injury (hitting). take care of yourself & let me know if there's anything else i should add.

He isn’t sure where he is, at first. His vision is blurry, black spots dancing at the edges of his view. As he comes to, he’s able to tell he’s sitting cross-legged on a wool floor. His hands curl in the soft cloth of the hoodie he’s wearing, and he focuses on messing with it with shaking hands.

He’s sitting in what seems to be a small library, a dark room covered with books on every spare surface, piled on tables and open in stands. He grabs the nearest one, opens it. His vision makes it hard to focus on the words, and his brain is so fuzzy he can barely understand what he’s reading, but after a few moments he can make out a few words:

_Don’t forget who you are._

Anger flares deep in his chest. Great, super fucking useful. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s tearing the page in half, then in more and more pieces until there’s tiny scraps strewn across his lap.

He sits back as his vision swims, leaning against one of the bookcases. He wonders if he wrote the note himself, wonders what he’s doing here, where _here_ even is.

He takes another book off a pile. The same thing, the same note. He falls into a sort of rhythm: read, rip, repeat. He leaves the few that look important. His brain isn’t able to work out more than “Mizu,” but he knows enough to leave it be. He finds scribbling in a few books and destroys those too.

He’s not sure how long he continues tearing, frustration the only thing on his addled brain, but soon enough he’s sitting in a pile of fucked up confetti.

He hears voices somewhere up above, but he can’t quite get himself to focus, and he’s far too tired to even consider standing. He leans back again, closes his eyes, lets his thoughts drift.

The voices grow closer until he can’t ignore them anymore.

“What the fuck is this?” one of them asks. They sound like they’re underwater.

“Some kinda secret room?” the other offers. There’s the creak of a door, then the first one swears, loudly. His head hurts.

“Karl?”

He ignores them, keeps his eyes closed. They must be talking to someone else. The other one repeats the name.

“Karl!” Someone shakes his shoulder, and he jumps back. He blinks his eyes open and pulls back.

There are two people in front of him. The one who touched his shoulder is dressed in a beanie and some sort of tracksuit, his hand still outstretched. The other stands behind him, black hair tied back with a headband. He’s the one who speaks.

“Are you ok, babe?”

His head swims. What’s happening? What is _happening_?

He shakes his head, stares at the mess around him, stares at the two strangers. He pulls his hands close to himself, fiddles in the hoodie in a nervous gesture. Shakes his head again.

The one in the beanie crouches next to him, reaches out a hand, and he takes it, hesitantly. The other is quick to sit on his other side, rest a hand on his leg.

“Karl, baby, what’s wrong?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, finding himself unable to talk. He’s not even sure he remembers how.

“Don’t want to talk?” Headband asks, and he’s so grateful. He nods, hesitantly.

“The fuck is this room?” Beanie muses, looking around. His leg bounces, and it’s clear he wants to stand and explore, but he’s still holding his hand.

Headband takes that as his cue and stands, looking around. He starts to read the names of the books around the room. His voice lulls him into a sort of relaxation as he makes comments and cracks half-assed jokes about what he’s reading. Beanie squeezes his hand and leans into his side, and he doesn’t pull away this time.

Headband and Beanie say a few more things, but he’s tired, confused, and he can’t quite make sense of what they’re saying. Beanie pulls away from him and he almost falls over, but soon enough they each have a hand and are pulling him to his feet. He stumbles a bit, and he’s so, so tired he almost collapses against Headband’s side, but they catch him and help him steady himself.

They lead him upstairs, painstakingly but so patient. He curls in bed as soon as they lay him down. He can hear them whispering outside the room but he doesn’t care, passing out almost immediately. He’s too tired to do anything else, bits of ripped up paper still clinging to his hoodie.

* * *

He wakes slowly, painfully. His head still pounds, and as he sits up his vision is still blurry. He needs to go. He needs to go _somewhere._

He stumbles out of bed, almost cracking his head on the wall as he wavers on his feet. He braces himself as he makes his way down the hallway. His feet know the layout of the house even if his brain doesn’t, and soon enough he finds himself in the kitchen.

Headband is standing there, and he turns as he hears Karl. When he catches sight of him, his face both brightens and falls in some sort of paradox, but he lets him help him to the sofa all the same.

“How are you feeling?” His face is so gentle, and he reaches out a hand to cup his face.

He feels bad pushing him away but he _still doesn’t know what’s happening._

And he can’t help it. That’s it. He’s tired, and he’s confused, and he doesn’t know these people, and he doesn’t know why they’re touching him and he doesn’t know why he trusts them and he doesn’t know where he is and he doesn’t know _when_ he is, and he doesn’t know why that’s even a question.

And he starts to cry.

It starts out quiet, just small hiccups as the other, the _stranger_ , pulls him into a hug, but soon enough it devolves into full-on sobs and wails. The other man must come in because he hears talking and soon enough there’s another set of arms around him.

He wants to pull away, he doesn’t know these people, he doesn’t know what’s going on, his brain isn’t fucking working, he can’t do this, he can’t-

He pulls a hand free from their hugs and knocks the palm of his hand against his temple, _hard._

The others exclaim, cup his hands in theirs, and he lets out a few noises of frustration, and he finds his voice.

“Stop!” he shouts, and he’s not even sure what or who he’s saying it to, but he can’t stop, he can’t stop repeating it, and he’s just _shouting_.

The others let him, and he’s pretty sure beanie even lets out a celebratory whoop, encouraging him, ironic as it might be.

Eventually he quiets, and they’re still holding him, and he’s grateful. He falls back into their embrace. Headband lets him go, ruffles his hair. His smile is sad as he pretends everything is normal, as he says, “I’m gonna go make breakfast now.”

Beanie brushes his hair out of his face, straightens his hoodie, and looks him in the eye. There’s no smile on his face as he cups a hand around his head and looks into unfocused eyes and says, “Karl, please, baby, I love you. Please tell me what’s going on.”

He’s found his voice. It’s rusty from screaming, but it’s his all the same. It cracks as he says, “I don’t fucking know.”

“What’d you mean?”

“I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know who you are or who I am, I don’t _remember_ ,” he says, growing hysterical at the last words. He reaches out to grab the other’s arm in seek of support.

Beanie huffs in disbelief, leaning back against the sofa. “... Fuck. Fuck. Are you serious?”

He seems to search his face for some sign of a prank, like it’s simply not possible. He rubs his hands over his face, resting it in his hands for a couple seconds. Then he takes his hand, hooks their fingers together. “Ok. What do you need to know?”

He bites his lip. “Everything.”

* * *

Karl. His name’s Karl.

His husbands’ names are Sapnap and Quackity. He can already feel it slipping from his mind, and as he sits on the sofa he stares at a spot on the floor and repeats it over and over. Sapnap, Quackity, Karl. Karl, Karl, Karl.

The name sounds funny in his mouth, so he mumbles it over, and over, and over. Headband-Sapnap sits next to him and listens to him mumble to himself and grips his arm like he’s afraid he’ll slip away. Maybe he will.

The finer details of the situation are already disappearing from reach, and he struggles to hold onto them. Something about L’Manburg, Manburg, a war or two, something.

He knows they’re important. He knows that he had something to do with it, but he can’t remember. He knows it has something to do with what he was doing before he forgot.

He stumbles to his feet. Sapnap makes a startled sort of noise when he pulls free from his hold, but he’s on a mission now. He’s still tripping a bit, but it doesn’t matter.

He climbs back down to where they found him the night before, to the mysterious room hidden under their house. The door was left ajar and the torn-up paper is still there. It’s sort of comforting. He knows something. He knew the paper would be here. He knows how it got there. He knows something.

He crouches, rifles his hands through the small piles while Headband- Headband- Sapnap watches. He catches words here and there. Remember. Who.

It answers nothing, and tensions start to rise. He can’t remember. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s important. He stands, pieces still clenched in his fists, moves to the books and the sketches. Mizu, masquerade, beach. None of it makes sense.

Tears prick his eyes, fists full of paper shaking. He can’t remember. He can’t remember.

Someone touches his shoulder, and he flinches. A man with a headband is reaching out to him. He knows who this is.

He does. He hiccups, and the man pulls him into a hug.

“Who?” he asks, voice watery. The stranger clutches him closer.

“Sapnap. One of your husbands.” He’s crying too.

He fists in his husband’s shirt, holding him close. He wants to say something, but he’s not sure he can.

“I love you, Karl, I love you,” Sapnap murmurs into his shoulder. “Whatever it takes, just tell me what you need.”

He knows this:

His name is Karl.

His head hurts.

Bits of paper flutter to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> uhhh i have a couple other fics planned currently. another karl-centric fic, as well as one or two centered on dream, so keep an eye out for those. also, check out my other dsmp fics!
> 
> here's my [ ko-fi ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/post/623129308189327360/i-just-finished-setting-up-a-ko-fi-please-check)!  
> here's my [ information on writing commissions ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/post/631112745941712896/hello-ive-finally-decided-to-officially-open)!  
> here's my [ tumblr ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> let me know if any of the links break, and i'll do my best to fix them!  
> please leave some comments, and i'm always, always open to constructive criticism :).


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